


A Cat May Look at a General (or a Major and a Corporal, if there are no generals to be found)

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23603983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: Klinger gets a cat and the cat changes everything.
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Kudos: 30





	A Cat May Look at a General (or a Major and a Corporal, if there are no generals to be found)

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes for the MASH fan in you!
> 
> Hibiki’s name was chosen for the reasons outlined in the story, but also as a subtle homage to Habibi. I’ve never felt such affection for an animal I couldn’t see! 
> 
> I don’t know for certain, but if my eyes don’t deceive me, Colonel Potter’s horse, Sophie, is represented (played?) by two different animals: a chestnut and a bay. I gave the Sophie in this story the coloring of Korea’s famous Sgt. Reckless. 
> 
> I noticed on a recent re-watch that visiting Generals get names like Stone or Steel. As a hat tip, I chose Ferrous for my invented general. 
> 
> Rules about service men and women bringing home animals from war zones are changing. The discipline of Human-Animal studies is a great starting point if you’re interested.

When Klinger brought a cat to camp to serve as a companion and clothes horse, its presence provoked a range of reactions. He named the creature Hibiki (Beak for short) which was Japanese for “echo.” Hibiki liked to answer any conversation directed at him with a distinctive “woo” sound. And now when someone joked about “Klinger’s beak” it was usually complimentary!

BJ had always enjoyed Klinger’s forays into fashion. You had to hand it to the man; he kept up with his responsibilities as company clerk, he never missed an OR session _and_ he accessorized. When did he have time to sleep? Now that his major accessory was a cat, BJ began looking forward to his next creation- if only to photograph it for Erin. “The funny dress up cat” was now the toddler’s favorite part of his letters home! “You’re giving her ideas,” Peg scolded him in her letters. “She wants a ballerina cat for her birthday! How am I supposed to deliver on that?!” They had come up with the very satisfying compromise of a stuffed cat - with Klinger generously donating the original ballerina costume, complete with tiny tiara!

Major Margaret Houlihan was _not_ a fan of Beak. A cat in a hospital was sure to spread disease, rhinestone-emblazoned flea collar or not. When Hibiki crossed her path she said unflattering things like “Scat!” and “Shoo!” “Woo!” the cat would return, nimbly avoiding her kicks and swats. However, when a series of very insistent “woos” alerted one of her nurses to a patient in distress, she relented... a little.

Colonel Potter initially saw Hibiki as another attempt at a section eight. Hadn’t he been lived through Habibi the invisible camel? But then came the day when he went to saddle up his sweet Sophie girl. He unfurled the saddle blanket that had seen action in WWI and II only to find that the equine back he had intended to cover with it was occupied by a ball of black and white fur. The sight touched him. Sophie was breathing out whuffling breaths. Her neck was stretched, head down, eyes closed in contentment. She was clearly quite conscious of her companion.

Potter made a clucking sound at himself. “Well, Soph, I knew horses were social creatures. I thought I was giving you enough attention, but I guess you were missing herd life.” He scratched the blaze on her face. “Guess no one ever told you that you can’t herd cats, huh girl?” Beak “woo”ed seemingly in confirmation. Potter placed his seamed and gnarled hands on his fur. “Seems I’ll have to have a talk with your seamstress about a cavalry outfit for you, my boy.” And then, since no one was around, he placed a kiss on the tiny black and white head.

Hawkeye invited the attentions of the kitten (at first, admittedly, in hopes of winning attention from the nurses). What he couldn’t understand was why Beak lacked so much feline instinct. Tent rats walked right past him, tails curled enticingly as if to provide handles.

“Beej, what’s wrong with this cat?” he asked his tent-mate who was reading a letter from home for the seventeenth time.

“Hmm?” It took Hunnicutt a moment to reemerge from reveries of Mill Valley and his loved ones.

“The rats!” Hawkeye gestured wildly; his voice and expressions were outsized, dialed up to eleven - sometimes in the name of comedy, sometimes as a ward against the horror and heartbreak of Korea. “The rats are practically an assembly line buffet and this thing,” he dug his knuckles into Beak’s head in a kitty massage, “isn’t interested. What gives?”

Realizing he wasn’t going to get to (re)finish his letter until he entertained his roommate, BJ held up two fingers. “Two theories.”

Hawkeye cocked his finger and thumb, the closest he ever got to a gun, military rank notwithstanding. “Shoot.”

“One: Hawk, that’s an exotic cat. Maybe it wants a squirrel or a chinchilla in Bearnaise sauce or something.”

Hawkeye surveyed the tent. “I can sprinkle some foot powder on their tails. Exotic enough?”

Hunnicut ignored him. “Two: he’s wearing his French maid outfit today. Maybe rats are not part of his cleaning duties.”

Sitting at the travel desk he’d had flown in from Germany, Major Charles Winchester smiled to himself. He had a third theory, but he was keeping it to himself. _Maybe Hibiki is too full for mice, having breakfasted on kippers imported from Ireland._

***

Drama did not come to surround Hibiki until his six month birthday. At that time, the newly appointed General Clifford Ferrous made a highly publicized tour of the best-performing M*A*S*Hes. Klinger was discreet on this auspicious occasion (a trait he’d not been known for during past visits from top brass) but one of his aides learned about the cross dressing Hibiki and his owner and brought the matter to the attention of the General.

Upon hearing rumors about the corporal, Ferrous requested Klinger’s file and read through two commander’s worth of dense reports on the man’s antics. His head began to shake before he hit page five. “...big red bird, fuzzy pink feet...” he murmured to himself, causing his aides to share concerned looks and top off the General’s Scotch.

Shortly thereafter, Ferrous reached a decision. Corporal Klinger was going home. He sat down with Colonel Potter to break the news. “Potter, I don’t usually make it a point of poking my nose into other men’s commands, but this time I’m going to insist.”

Potter protested. Despite a rocky start, Klinger had grown into a crackerjack clerk. Replacing him would not be easy.

Ferrous bulldozed over his concerns. “Good clerks are a dime a dozen. I’ll personally find you another one. A better one. Someone more GI. It’s time to release that looney bird, Colonel. Take it from me. Wearing dresses? Dressing up _animals_? Two weeks back in the States and he’ll either be in a mental hospital or in a cell for,” and here he shuddered dramatically, “deviant acts.”

Potter thought about digging in but then he thought of Klinger’s face. He had a soft spot for the boy. Klinger had been trying to escape - ingeniously at times - for several months of Sundays. Why shouldn’t the boy go home to his beloved Toledo with its hot dogs and its baseball team and its pool halls?

It turned out that Klinger had a very particular reason. The section 8 signed by Ferrous guaranteed a trip home for him — but taking home Hibiki was a no go. And if Hibiki wasn’t going, “I’m not going!” declared the corporal. “I’ll get myself thrown in the stockade! I-I’ll reenlist!”

The entire camp tried to calm him and convince them that they would care for Hibiki without him, but Klinger would not be calmed. The man who had fought hardest to leave was now staying, some way, somehow. It was the ultimate irony.

Charles was last to approach the incensed creature. He entered the tent to find both man and cat bereft of costume, Klinger down at the mouth, Hibiki batting at him in search of affection or trying to cheer him up. Seeing Klinger stroke through the softness of the cat’s fur, Charles made a sound in his throat.

Klinger looked up. “What is it, Major?”

“Nothing.”

“No, really.”

“I was merely thinking that I would pay an indecent sum of money for someone to touch me with the exquisite gentleness you use to pet that cat.”

Klinger blinked at him. “Major?”

Charles came back to himself. “Ignore me. I came to talk to you about your decision.”

Klinger pulled the golden-eyed Hibiki closer and gave him a warning look. “I’m not going, Major.”

Charles held his hands up. “I won’t send you. In truth, I’d be beside myself with jealousy if you did go, though that’s not what I came here to say. Rather, I came because I admire your stand. The man who refuses to leave what he loves is to be saluted.” He actually lifted a hand in that precise military gesture that was so foreign to him as a surgeon. “Hold the course, Max.”

Klinger sat dumbfounded until he withdrew.

***

In the end, the fate of the 4077th’s present clerk was resolved by the man who had held the position before him and so faithfully discharged its duties. Radar O’Reilly solved Klinger’s problem, rerouted his paperwork, and secured his place in Korea until war’s end, when Klinger had every intention of going stateside cat in tow - even if he had to pay for his own transportation.

Eager to embrace any excuse to eat cake, the camp threw a “Welcome back” party with him, complete with banner and a dress up party in tribute to the Klinger collection. Potter was even trying to get the man a commendation; he considered Klinger’s refusal of the section 8 the greatest show of bravery he’d ever had the privilege to witness.

Not everyone respected his choice, however. Conspicuously absent from the festivities were Hunnicutt and Houlihan. Margaret knew strings had been pulled to keep what she considered to be an unfit individual in the army; her boycott was meant to show her disapproval of the way the 4077th continually disrespected military regulations. BJ’s upset was more personal. He wanted to be back in his wife’s arms again. He wanted to hold the baby girl he feared he would no longer recognize. That Klinger would close the door back to the States because of a cat... “He’ll come around,” Hawkeye assured the clerk.

As the party began to disintegrate into smaller parties (usually of two but not always; it was a liberal camp!) Klinger slowly returned to his tent. To his surprise, it was empty.

A bolt of panic zipped through him. He’d stayed for an animal that had run off! Or, worse, maybe someone was angry about his decision and had decided to take it out on the cat! He began to call for his pet, hurrying through the compound.

Winchester stopped his flight, calling from the Swamp. “Calm down, Max. Hibiki is here with me.”

“With you? I didn’t know you liked animals, Major.”

“Only well dressed ones.” Hibiki “wooed” at this in a pleased way.

Fear leaving him, Klinger noticed that they were alone. “Where are the guys?”

“If I were to make an educated guess, those two are sharing fumbling embraces in the front of a pilfered jeep somewhere at the edges of the compound.”

“Discovered that open secret, huh?”

“Yes. I will spare you the method of my discovery, however... suffice it to say, it is unwise to return early from Seoul when one is slated for a later arrival.”

“It surprises me that you’re so accepting, Major.”

“This is a terrible place. I imagine that having a companion might make it just the slightest bit more bearable.” He placed the cat on the ground with a fond pat to its tiny head.

Klinger came closer, drawn by something he thought he saw in those eyes. He lifted the Major’s wrist without asking for permission and turned his hand over. He ran his fingers down the exquisitely sensitive skin there.

Charles’ voice was shocked but small. “What are you doing?”

“You said it, when you came to talk about Beak. You said you wished someone would touch you.”

He swallowed audibly. “I did.”

“Will I do?”

“Will _I_?”

Klinger knew it was probably the most vulnerable Charles had been since being transferred. He beamed at him. “Oh yeah.” He looked around. “Are you sure Hawk and BJ won’t be home?”

“I believe we shall be left quite alone.” He grinned hugely. “And if by some chance we are not, I have always held that turnabout is fair play.”

It surprised a laugh out of Klinger. “Miss the hanger on the door, did you?”

“Those dolts were too ‘overcome’ to bother.”

It was Klinger’s turn to feel vulnerable. “And you’d risk being seen with me?”

“I’ve long believed you had the most well turned ankles in the camp.” Their hands remained touching and he flattened his palm as an invitation. Klinger repeated the gentle gesture from before just to see the surgeon shiver then followed his fingers with his lips.

The major looked down on his dark head. “You’re good at that,” he murmured. “Have you been practicing that too?”

“Kiss a cat, sir? That’ll get you a mouthful of fur.”

Charles used a single finger to lift his chin. “That _would_ be a waste.”

Then his mouth was not just filled - but overtaken. Klinger cried out under the pressure of that kiss- in shock and in pleasure - and found himself on his back somehow.

“What have _you_ been practicing?” he asked when he could speak again.

“Please. I am decidedly out of practice. If I was not,” here he was interrupted by a tail to the face. Knuckling Hibiki’s head he said, “Speaking of a mouthful of fur..."

“Sorry, Major. Want me to put him in my tent?”

“No. But if we are to avoid further _cattus interruptus_ , I have an idea.” He stood to rummage in his foot locker and withdrew something soft and shapeless.

“What’s that?” asked Klinger.

“Just a soft scrap of cloth I found. He likes to knead it. He gets quite blissfully lost, doing that.”

“You’re soft on that cat, Charles. It’s sweet."

“Please. I am merely clearing the field to get back to what we were doing.”

“I’m flattered, but I don’t believe you.”

“Love you, love your cat, eh?” asked Charles. “Maxwell, I am most pleased to say that I can certainly live with that!”

As the evening dark wore on, the bliss found in the Swamp was not limited to the exotic short hair kneading its blanket, pausing sometimes to say, “Woo,” happily to itself.

End!


End file.
